


No Prayer for Salvation

by Siifo



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siifo/pseuds/Siifo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike's obsession with Buffy is half  rage, half devotion.  When you've been dead for centuries, the line between salvation and damnation kind of blurs. </p>
<p>Either way, Spike's always been a poet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Prayer for Salvation

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

RED is the color of blood, and I will seek it:  
I have sought it in the grass.

 

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

It mounts from the heart to the temples, the singing mouth—  
As cold sap climbs to the rose.

Madness for red! I devour the leaves of autumn.  
I tire of the green of the world.

 

I am confused in webs and knots of scarlet

He leadeth me beside the still waters

Spun from the darkness;  
Or shuttled from the mouths of thirsty spiders.

He restoreth my soul:

I am myself a mouth for blood …

 

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

 

Look: there are seagulls in these city skies,  
Kindled against the blue.  
But I do not think of the seagulls, I think of you.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I think of you, crumpled against a whiteness;  
Flayed and torn, with a dulled face.

 

Your hair is like spun fire  
You smile at me—say nothing. You are wise.

I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;

I think of you, writhing, a thing of scarlet,  
And myself, rising red from that embrace

 

 

Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

If human mouths were really roses, my dear,—  
(Why must we link things so?—)  
I would tear yours petal from petal with slow murder.  
I would pluck the stamens, the pistils,  
The gold and the green,—  
Spreading the subtle sweetness that was your breath  
On a cold wave of death ...

 

 

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

Sunlight poured through honey:  
Old things, in such a light, grow subtle and fine.  
Look, how our shadows creep along the gravel!—  
And this way, how the gravel begins to shine!

Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

It is dark, with a windy star.

 

Surely goodness and mercy shall -

For I think of you, flung down brutal darkness;  
Crushed and red, with pale face.

-follow me all the days of my life:

I think of you, with your hair disordered and dripping,  
And myself, rising red from that embrace

And I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**_*Source text: King James Bible, Psalm 23 and Conrad Aiken's "Red is the Color of Blood", with some reworking._ **


End file.
